by Tawna Fenske
“Come on,” I say, slipping my arm through his and ignoring the baffled look he’s aiming down the hallway. “I’ll explain everything, but right now, we’ve got a reception to get to.”
I wonder if I’ll see Cort Bracelyn there, or if he’ll blend into the crowd. Maybe he’ll vanish into thin air the way he’s done before.
Right now, I feel the presence of family like a comforting hug. It’s the best feeling in the world, and I’m so grateful I could burst.
As Bradley slips an arm around me, I settle into the warmth of his body and the peace I’ve spent my whole life searching for.
“Let’s go,” he says. “We’ve got a future out there waiting for us.”
Epilogue
Isabella
“How do I look?”
I turn to face my mother, smoothing down the skirt of my wedding dress. It’s an off-the-shoulder silk gown with eyelash lace and a zillion seed pearls scattered down the sixteen-foot train.
“Beautiful.” The Duchess dabs her eyes, then leans in to adjust my veil. “I know it’s much more formal than you wanted, but the palace stands on tradition.”
“Not all traditions.” I smile and fasten the heirloom pearl earrings on my lobes. “Your idea to have two weddings was perfect. Hell, let’s have six more.”
The Duchess laughs instead of chastising me for the curse word, which says everything about our new relationship.
“Just between you and me,” she murmurs. “I thought your Oregon wedding was perfect. So…intimate.”
“I thought so, too.” It was exactly what I wanted, with my Bracelyn siblings rounding out the wedding party. Mark and Chelsea’s daughter, Libby, tossed rose petals down the aisle, while Kevin the pig served as ring bearer in a jaunty vest and blue bowtie.
Best of all, the groom just happened to be the man of my dreams. A soldier, a doctor, a gentleman. A man I once imagined might exist, but never dared to hope could be mine.
And now, he is.
“Having a palace wedding is nice, too,” I assure my mother. “Being part of Dovlano tradition, even if it’s not how we pictured it.”
She studies my reflection in the mirror and I study her right back. I might have the Bracelyn family’s green eyes, but there’s plenty I got from my mother. Dainty nose. Dark hair. A fierce love of family, even as my definition of family evolves.
Meeting my eyes in the mirror, she smiles. “Your makeup is perfect. You made the right decision, ignoring me.”
“Thank you.” I wonder if she’s talking about more than cosmetics. I was offered the services of the Duchess’s personal makeup artist, but asked Bree to do the honors instead. My sister added a bit more flash for the Dovlano ceremony, with dabs of silver and a touch more rouge, but I still look like me.
The version of me who stood up for herself, informing the Duke and Duchess that I would not be returning to marry Prince Stefano.
I won’t lie and say it went well. Their anger wore down after a few days, but Dovlano media was relentless. Headlines blasted my selfish choice to shirk my duties and marry a man not born of royal blood.
Bradley and I took things in stride, weathering the worst of the media storm from our cozy cabin at Ponderosa Resort. It wasn’t until the Duke himself held a press conference that things calmed down in Europe.
“Listen, you pompous, gormless numpties,” he barked into the mic on the palace lawn. “Piss off and leave Lady Isabella in peace.”
And if those words weren’t enough, Dante drove the message home by lurking behind him with a fierce scowl. At his right hand, Bradley stood at attention in his Army dress uniform. He didn’t need to say a word.
It’s one thing when a woman stands up for herself, making it clear she intends to set the course of her own life.
It's another when the men in her life stand, too, declaring “get it, girl—we’ve got your back.”
Within twenty-four hours of the press conference, the media backed off.
Within forty-eight hours, Dante vanished.
“He’s fine,” the Duke assured me when I expressed concern. “Sometimes, a man just wants a new life for himself.”
It was all I could do not to think of Cort Bracelyn. To wonder if he and Dante bonded over more than just firearms and dead body disposal. It won’t surprise me to see Dante again one day, possibly in some American suburb with a wife and kids; perhaps a pig of his own.
“Here, this is for you.” My mother startles me by slipping a battered scrap of blue fabric into my hand.
I turn it over in my fingers, running my thumb over the silk edge. “What is it?”
Her eyes fill with tears, and instantly, I know.
“From Oliver’s baby blanket.” She takes a shaky breath and meets my eye. “I know there’s an American wedding custom about having something blue, but I wanted to save it for this ceremony. For Dovlano, where his memories are.”
My eyes prickle, and I blink hard to keep the tears from spilling over. “Oh, Mother.” I tuck the scrap into the bust of my gown and pull her in for a hug that’s much tighter than we’re accustomed to in the royal palace. “Thank you. This means so much to me.”
She leans into the embrace for a bit, not saying anything. Her breath ruffles the hair at the nape of my neck, and her arms feel fragile and tense around me.
When she draws back, I see the effort it takes to compose herself. “I need to say something,” she says. “I owe you an apology.”
“You don’t owe—”
“I do,” she insists, so I shut up and let my mother talk. “The presentation Bradley gave—I—I had no idea. All this time, you felt so guilty. I knew deep down it wasn’t your fault. What happened to Oliver—it was just one of those things, but I couldn’t face it. I didn’t know how to.”
“None of us did,” I respond. “We were all just flailing around in our grief.”
“But I was the parent.” Her brow furrows, a miracle against Botox. “I let you believe it was your fault, but it wasn’t. Seeing things spelled out the way they were in Bradley’s presentation—the PowerPoint slides and graphs and—”
“I know.” I laugh because it’s such a Bradley thing to do.
Some men formally ask for a daughter’s hand in marriage. My groom created a thirty-minute visual presentation spotlighting medical research to prove in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t responsible for Oliver’s death. That no one was.
Maybe deep down, we always knew that. The Duke, my mother, me. But seeing the science erased any lingering doubt.
“I’m sorry.” My mother drags her hankie out again and swipes under her eyes. “For letting you feel responsible. I wasn’t sure what to do with my own guilt, so I put it on you. I’ll never forgive myself for that as long as I live.”
“I forgive you.” I hug her tighter this time, my arms straining against the boning in her formal gown. “And I forgive myself.”
For everything, not just my brother’s death. We’re all just doing the best we can, and sometimes, we make mistakes.
But learning to unravel them, to pivot and move in a different direction—that’s the beauty of building a life filled with happiness and love.
“It’s time, My Lady.”
We turn to see my mother’s courtier ducking out of the room as quickly as she slipped in. I pivot back to the Duchess with a smile.
“Shall we do this?”
My mother nods and touches my arm. “I’m so proud of you.”
The words feel like a bright ball of sunshine I’ve swallowed whole. “Thank you.”
We walk together to the rear of the palace cathedral. Bright swaths of color puddle on the slate floors as sunlight streams through stained glass. It’s Dovlano custom for both parents to walk the bride down the aisle, and the Duke is already waiting. Lifting his chin, he crooks his elbow toward me.
“You’re stunning, my dear.”
“Thank you.” I slip my arm through his, thinking about fathers. Somewhere out there—maybe even hid
den in this crowd—is the man who gave me his DNA.
But the parents walking me down the aisle, they’re the ones who raised me. They weren’t perfect—not by a long shot. Neither am I. But the way they’ve embraced my choices—embraced the man I’ve chosen to marry—speaks volumes about their love for me.
I wonder if the Duke hears my thoughts as we float toward the front of the cathedral. “I’m glad you found a man worthy of you,” he murmurs, casting a glance at Bradley up ahead. “If that changes, say the word. I’ll gladly have him killed.”
“Um, thank you?” I’m trying not to laugh as my gaze locks with Bradley’s, and my belly flips over.
It’s still like this after all these months. We’ve endured medical emergencies and family drama, big adjustments and little ones. The man still takes my breath away, and I suspect he always will.
The Dovlanese wedding march surges around us as the twelve-piece orchestra reaches its crescendo right as we reach the altar. The space is decked out in royal gold and purple, with bright bursts of orange roses and white lilies procured from my mother’s garden. The air swirls with candlelight and the scent of spring breeze wafting from the high windows above the altar. I’m sure it’s all quite lovely.
But I only have eyes for Bradley. As I release the Duke’s arm and take my place at my groom’s side, Bradley catches my hands in his.
“I’m the luckiest man on earth,” he murmurs as he dots a kiss behind my ear.
I swallow back the lump in my throat, fighting tears that threaten to choke out words I’ve spent weeks rehearsing. In Dovlano, we get right to the vows at the start of the ceremony. I’m delivering mine in both English and Dovlanese, intent on making sure everyone here knows exactly what this means to me. What he means to me.
“Bradley David Parker.” I take a shaky breath and look into his eyes. The bright blue warmth gives me strength to push past the wobble in my voice. “I never thought this moment would come.”
My mouth feels dry, but I’m not afraid. Nervous, yes, with a million pairs of eyes on us for this televised ceremony. But fear hasn’t touched me since that day in Dante’s cabin. I take another breath and keep going.
“My whole life, I thought I was destined for one thing,” I continue. “It wasn’t until we met that I discovered a whole realm of love and wonder and happiness that I never knew existed. I wanted that so badly. I wanted you.”
There’s a soft titter from the audience. Possibly puritanical members of the royal family, or maybe my Bracelyn brothers snickering on the opposite side of the aisle. I don’t care that I’m revealing such raw emotion. That’s sort of the point.
Squeezing Bradley’s hands, I keep going. “Before I met you, I never knew what it was to be the best version of myself. To discover who I want to be, and then turn around to find the man who loves me not just for who I am, but for who I might become. You make me the very best version of myself. Every day, you make me better, braver, kinder. For all of my days, I vow to support, cherish, and love you the same way you’ve loved me.”
I’m blinking hard now, but I got through it. It helps that we’ve done this once before, though our American ceremony was different. These vows, they’re just for the wedding here in my homeland.
Bradley smiles, making sure I’m done before he starts his own vows. “Lady Isabella Maria Francesca Blankenship. You are my world.” His smile broadens, and that’s when I realize he’s just spoken in Dovlanese. His accent isn’t perfect, but the words are clear as day.
A fierce wave of love nearly takes out my knees, but he holds my hands tighter. I love him more in that moment than I ever thought possible. This man, this wonderful man so intent on blending our lives, our cultures together.
“Izzy,” he continues. “You are the love of my life. From the day I met you, there’s never been any question of that. The question was merely how we’d get here, to this place, right now. How we’d find ourselves at the front of a church like this, pledging our lives together.”
He smiles and takes a deep breath. He’s nervous, too, and I grip his hands tighter and offer an encouraging smile.
Bradley grins back and keeps going. “The thing I’ve learned is that it’s a team effort. Sometimes, you’ll be the stronger one, and sometimes I will. Sometimes we’ll both be strong together, and sometimes we’ll both be weak. But the goal, the point, the beauty in all this, is that we’ll be together.” His dimples flash as he threads his fingers through mine. “I vow to always put your needs first, knowing if we both do that, we’ll thrive as a team.”
I hear my mother sniffling in the front row, and I’m fighting back tears of my own. Happy tears, the happiest I’ve ever felt.
Bradley gives me a smile with a hint of mischief and takes a step closer. Leaning in so his lips brush my ear, he lowers his voice and shifts to English. “I love you, Izzy. And I vow to love, honor, and get the hell out of your way anytime you need that.”
I laugh and pull him in for an embrace. I don’t care that the minister hasn’t told us to, or that it’s not the point in the ceremony for kissing. As I wrap my arms around him, it feels right and so utterly perfect.
The crowd erupts into applause, which is also not Dovlanese custom. We’re making our own rules now, and I’ve never felt more alive.
As Bradley’s lips brush mine, he looks into my eyes. “How’d we do?”
“Fantastic,” I breathe. “Outstanding.”
“We’re off to a good start.”
I laugh and press my lips to his, our fingers still threaded together. “I love you,” I tell him when I break the kiss. “So much.”
“My wife.” His hand slips into the small of my back as he draws back and holds my gaze with his. “Let’s grow old disgracefully together.”
I laugh and pull him to me again. “Plan on it.”
***
Thank you, dear reader, for following the Ponderosa Resort series through to its conclusion (for now). As you might have guessed, you’ll be seeing Dante again in a new series launching in 2021 featuring an assortment of hired guns who swap the assassin scene for life the suburbs. Subscribe to my newsletter for an exclusive scoop on release dates and details.
If you’ve already read all 9 stories in the Ponderosa world, how about giving my new Juniper Ridge rom-com series a try? Here’s an exclusive sneak peek at the first chapter in book #1, Show Time…
Your exclusive sneak peek at Show Time
CONFESSIONAL 32.5
Judson, Dean (CEO: Juniper Ridge)
What? No, of course I’m not fucking camera shy. Jesus, Lauren. I grew up with the damn things shoved in my face just like you. Production value? [unintelligible muttering] Can’t I just run the business side of—yeah, I know. All in this together, blah blah. I still don’t see why I have to sit here like a trained parrot and—[heavy sigh] Fine. But only for the business. It’s not because you’re doing the sad little sister face. Or because I love you.
Oh, bite me.
I glance at the clock in my office, trying to decide if I have enough time to grab coffee. In my old life, I had an assistant who’d set a hot mug in front of me before I even thought the word coffee.
But my old life was full of dirty money and blinding lights and the constant stench of desperation, so getting my own coffee is a small price to pay.
Six minutes. That’s how long I have until the candidate for chief financial officer makes her appearance. How long does it take to make coffee, anyway?
“Here are the notes for the police officers’ screen tests.” My sister, Mari, strides in with a folder in her hands and a pencil speared through her lopsided bun. “Lauren emailed you the video files. I think the psych eval on—”
“Doesn’t this seem weird to you?” I fold my hands on my desk as Mari stops moving for once and looks at me. “I mean, we’re hiring professionals based on how well they’ll perform on camera.”
Mari sighs and whacks the folder down in front of me a lot harder than necessary. “We�
�re making a reality show, not staffing the Oval Office. And we’re hiring them for specific skills they bring to the community.” She gives me the look over the rim of her glasses. “Are we going to keep having this conversation? Because if we are, I’ll ask Lauren to tape my response and you can hit play by yourself.”
“That sounds about right.” Our brother, Gabe, ambles through the door grinning. “I only caught the end of that, but if we’re suggesting Dean spends his days in here buffing the banana, we should rethink letting him have the big office.”
“Get out.” I glance over my brother’s shoulder at the clock. “I’ve got five minutes until my next interview gets here.”
“She’s already here.” Gabe drops into one of my guest chairs, in no hurry to get gone. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. She’s been out in the waiting room for ten minutes.”
Punctual. That’s a good sign. I make a mental note as Gabe kicks his legs out and folds his hands behind his head. “She’s actually sort of related.”
A ripple of unease churns my gut. I’m not a fan of nepotism. I saw way too much of that in Hollywood. “Related to whom?”
“To us,” he says. “Well, me. My wife.” He draws out the word like a guy who has not yet exhausted the novelty of it. To be fair, it’s been three weeks since the wedding, and also his wife is awesome. “Gretchen’s brother, Jon—his dad has this sister—”
“Jon’s late father,” Mari puts in, always big on establishing the human connection. “Who is no relation to Gretchen because she and Jon had different fathers.”
I’m already lost in the branches of my brother’s new family tree. “So, we’re not talking immediate family here?”
Gabe glares. “Will you let me finish, chief tight-ass?”
I sigh and wave him on, glancing at the clock again. I suppose I’ll live without the coffee.
“Anyway, Gretchen’s brother’s father’s sister has these twin daughters, and one of them—”
“Vanessa Vincent,” I interrupt. I like how the name sounds rolling off my tongue, strong and no-nonsense. “Harvard MBA, two years with PricewaterhouseCoopers, expertise in forensic accounting, compliance, and internal audit management.”